Dragon Age: Bound in Blood
by Lupine Volt
Summary: Deep in the swamp, a witch sows the seeds of the future, and six lives will soon be changed forevermore.  F!Cousland, M!Amell, F!Tabris, F!Mahariel, M!Brosca, M!Aeducan.
1. Prologue: Prophecy

**Dragon Age: Bound in Blood**

**Authors Note: Hello, hello, hello! Welcome to yet another Dragon Age Origins Fanfic throwing around the tired old premise of Duncan managing to get 6 origins covered. This story will contain F!Cousland, F!Tabris, F!Mahariel, M!Amell, M!Brosca, and M!Aeducan. There will be romance. No slash, however. I'm not sure I could write slash seriously without offending anyone, to be honest. Sorry. **

**Anywhoodle, just wanted to comment on the fact that I will try to make this more than simply writing the script of the game with some love scenes. I'm going to try to make things better, but I garuntee nothing. However, if you have any suggestions for how I can improve my writing, please let me know. This is for relevant things, though, such as if I have too many paragraph breaks or frequently mis-spell a word, not an invitation for you to tell me to ship Brosca with Morrigan or have Mahariel side with the templars. **

**Dragon Age and all related intellectual property are not mine. They belong to Bioware and the other developers of the franchise. I receive no profit from the posting of this work, other than the satisfaction of good reviews...hopefully.**

_Prologue: Prophecies._

_Deep within the Korcari wilds, a single shack sat amidst the quagmire. The light of a lone candle flickered from the window. From the shadows emerged a wolf, which, almost curiously, pauses right before the door. A cloud passes over the moon, darkening the night, and when it has moved on, a woman, not a dog, stands before the shack. She opens the door, and steps inside._

_"Mother, what are you doing up this late?" she asks, annoyed if anything by the apparently unusual sight. Before the fire sits an old, wizened woman, legs crossed and fingers twined. She chants an ancient tongue in a low voice, and the younger woman remains silent, sitting upon the cottages single chair. _

_The old woman continues her chant, never seeming to pause for breath. She then slowly raises her hands up, and there is a flash of light between her palms. When the light dissapates, the old woman stands up, unusually limber for all of her age._

_"To answer your question, girl, I have sown the seeds of the future." she says, her old voice raspy from her earlier exertion._

_"Have you been scrying again? Mother, you know that scrying is innaccurate most of the time. The future is not something that you can pin down until it is too late to do anything about it." Morrigan, the young woman complained, although there was a small eagerness at the opportunity to lecture her mother. _

_"Patience, child...now come here. There are things that I must inform you about. We must prepare."_

Life on the road is rarely easy at the best of times. Life on the road battling the forces of evil is even more difficult. But twas the life of the Grey Wardens, and a life that Duncan knew well. He had just finished his shift watching the camp, and settlled down on his bedroll. Alistair, the junior warden under him, had taken guard now. Trusting in his apprentices capabilities, Duncan drifted into a well deserved sleep.

_In the dream, Duncan browsed the Marketplace of Denerim, ignoring the fact that the sky had turned a deep, bloody red color and that demonic creatures were intermingled with the usual shoppers and merchants. He was drawn to the booth of an older woman with straggly white hair, whose merchandise seemed to fit into no easy catagory. One might have thought her a gem cutter for the pair of gemstones that she on her booth. One of them was a ruby that was covered with a fine layer of dust, and another one a diamond with a large crack running through it's surface. However, the bloody wedding ring that sat next to those bore no jewel. Nore did the mirror that hung on a peg by on the booths side poles. Duncan glanced into it, and was curious to see how it refused to reflect his face. _

_The next two items were even less related to the others. One was a torn banner for the Cousland family, lords of his own hometown of Highever. The last one was a single tome, with the image of a tower stamped upon the front. When he reached out to touch the book, the cover flipped open on it's own, and the pages rapidly began turning. _

_The old woman, with a single wave of her hand, promptly whisked the merchandise away, and pulled out a map. A large map of all of Ferelden, yellowed with age. Tiny figures moved across it, and Duncan leaned over, entranced._

_Alistair, his own junior warden, fell from the top of a tower and was impaled on top of an ornate gold crown. A dark haired young woman turned into a spider and spun a web connecting the various areas of the map to one another. A red headed chantry priestess played a silver flute and danced a jig, before using her instrument to stab a soldier. A giant of a man was imprisoned in a cage made entirely out of swords. A dwarf dug a hole in the ground desperately, only for the sides to repeatedly fall inwards and erase his hard work. A dark skinned elf cut his own throat with a sickly grin. An old woman transformed into a ball of radiant light, and winked out of existance. A statue like figure beat itself over the head with a hammer until it shattered. _

_Now these figures dissapeared, and new ones took their place. A band of Dalish hunters ran away from a pack of werewolves. Two dwarves sat upon an anvil, arguing, until another statue crushed them with a hammer. A mage and a templar sat on opposite sides of a glowing barrier, attempting desperately to break it down before some unseen force grabbed the mage and pulled her into the shadows with silent scream. Villagers ran in horror from rotting corpses that emerged from lake Calenhad. During all of this, a slow, bloody stain began to move from the bottom portion of the map, near Ostagar, slowly advancing until it completely covered the map. _

Duncan jolted awake, and paused. He quickly reached into his pack and pulled out a small pad of paper, a bottle of ink, and a quill, and took down a few hurried notes while the dream was fresh in his mind. Alistair, hearing the commotion, turned and was puzzled to find his commander jotting down several unusual words. Werewolves, dalish, golems, corpses, bloody wedding ring, templars, mages...

"Alistair, something has come to my attention. I want you to continue southward to Ostagar and rendevous with the rest of the wardens there. I have some pressing matters to attend to. Tell King Cailan that we _must_ wait for the Warden Reinforcements coming from Orlais." Duncan had stopped his writing and begun to pack up the camp. Alistair, knowing better than to question his superior, assisted. When they finished, Duncan put one hand on the shoulder of his young companion.

"Alistair, when you arrive at camp, please let Richu and the circle mages know that they are to prepare for a joining ritual. Have up to a dozen ready for the time I get back. I intend to bring new recruits in with me, just in case. Tread carefully, and Maker watch over you." Donning a traveling cape and shouldering his pack, Duncan headed west, leaving Alistair next to the remains of a campfire. The confused Jr. Warden felt an unusual hum about the air, and paused. THe feel of magic in the air was unmistakable, but just as he was about to pin it down, the energy dissapated, rushing into the earth, beyond the reach of his templar capabilities.

"...Maker watch over us all." he mumbled, and headed south, not realizing that it was far from the Maker that watched him now, from the cottage in the swamp.


	2. Dimensions of Dreams

**Authors Note: Welp, that's the first chapter down. For those curious, the origins will cover two to three chapters a piece depending on the origin, and will go in this order: Magi, Dwarf Commoner, Dwarf Noble, (Jory chapter), Human Noble, (Daveth), City Elf, Dalish Elf. **

**Post any constructive comments you have. Also, out of curiosity, would you like the inclusion of the Elf mage as well? Just a thought.  
>I do not own Dragon Age. Everything involved is the intellectual property of Bioware and others contributing to the franchise, and I profit in no way other than self gratification. <strong>

**Chapter 1: Dimensions of Dreams**

The apprentice quarters were quiet, and for good reason. At either end of the dormitory, Senior Enchanters stood, staffs aloft, holding a shroud of sleep over the unsuspecting youths. Two templars, dressed in light armor, shuffled until they found the correct bed and carefully slid the youth from it. Taking a shoulder each, they took him away.

Daylen Amell woke up in a small, stone room on a comfortable feather bed, and bit down the urge to yell. The fact he had not woken up in his usual bed meant only one thing. He had been taken in the night for his Harrowing. Every few weeks, an apprentice would vanish from their beds. Some of them would eventually be found back in their beds, delivered by templars. Others would only be seen from the tower windows as the burning raft was set out on the lake.

Daylen knew that, after he had awakened, he would be given two hours to prepare himself. There was a washtub for cleaning himself, which he did. His black, neck length hair and small beard were both washed with worried, wringing hands, and he obsessivly scrubbed his pale skin with the lye soap provided, on the slightly hysterical notion that he would die of embarrasment if he left a bad smelling corpse.

A plain, white robe was folded on the end of the feather bed, and he donned that. It hung from his rather slim body, and he hugged it around himself. A small tray of sandwiches had been left on the floor next to the bed, and Daylen quickly downed four of them, not pausing to taste whatever the sandwiches held. The entire process of preparing himself had taken about 15 minutes, leaving him an hour and forty-five minutes left, presumably for him to either meditate or beat himself to death with a sandwich platter. Daylen, noting the platter was china and probably not very durable, went for the first option.

Daylen had been born in the tower, according to his file. The child to two mages. His father was actually apparently a noble man from the northern Free Marches, in the city of Kirkwall. He had been killed by the templars for the use of blood magic, or so it said, before he had even been born. Daylen officially had no last name, but he took his father's name unofficially. It was something to hold on to. Of his mother, he had no idea, though she was also apparently a mage as well. For the first five years of his life he was raised by the chantry priestesses in the nursery with other children to mages in the tower. Those of his playmates who showed no sign of magic eventually were dedicated to the temple, becoming the priestesses and templars that would one day fill the roles of the same people who oppressed their parents. The rest of the children would be taken into study.

Daylen had been confirmed a mage at age three, when he had somehow managed to levitate himself to the top of a bookcase. From ages five through thirteen, he received his basic academic training, and was kept on a strict regiment of a special potion that, until puberty, would dampen his magical abilities. However, when the teenage years struck, along with racing hormones and uncomfortabe developments came the sparking of lightning from his hands and a small period in his fifteenth year in which the area directly ahead of him would freeze solid whenever he sneezed, which made his winter monthes rather uncomfortable for both him and the people he sat behind in classes.

Now, at the age of 25, he was completing his basic magical studies. Of course, now his basic magical studies were done for good. Should he suceed, Daylen would move into the mages quarters on the second floor and spend his days working on developing spells, teaching apprentices, brewing potions and experimenting. Then he would, hopefully, live to an old age and die in his sleep. Should he fail his Harrowing, Daylen would be killed, his body possessed by a demon from a realm beyond comprehension, which would then be killed by templars. His disfigured corpse would then be mutilated further, set out on a raft onto the lake and burned from the shore, just to be safe.

Daylen had been a good student, dutiful in his studies, primarilly out of fear of becoming an abomination. When he was not studying, Daylen would often prowl the library for interesting books. Otherwise, he would run favors for his senior mages, delivering messages and collecting things from the stock room in order to help. He was not at all outgoing with the opposite sex, though he did have female friends. He dabbled slightly in humor but never at the expense of learning, like some of his classmates. He also had a slightly annoying habit obsessing over the proper steps in his work, and became easilly flustered and embarassed. He was not to the level of neuroticism, though, like Wendell, an apprentice his senior who was in the habit of throwing up whenever he experienced stress. Wendell had vanished one night and, the next morning, the apprentices watched as the raft was set aflame.

Lying on the feather bed, looking over the last twenty five years of his life, Daylen resisted the urge to cry. Within hours, he could be dead, struck down by the templars. He had never finished that tome of poetry in the library. Never been with a woman. Never stepped off the island of the circle tower. Oh how he wished he could have seen the world before this day had come.

At this point, the door to the chamber of meditation opened, and in stepped Knight Commander Gregoir and a younger templar by the name of Cullen. Gregoir had the air of familiarity that worried Daylen, as if it would not matter whether or not Daylen suceeded, as it would be life as usual for him. Cullen, at the very least, looked just as sick as Daylen. Daylen guessed that it would be Cullen's first Harrowing as well, and that he would be the one to strike Daylen's body down should he fail.

They arrived at the Harrowing Chamber via the spiral staircase, and Daylen was momentarilly awed. The glass windows gave a magnificant view of Lake Calenhad by night. However, before each glass window stood a templar, watching him with expressions varying between encouraging smiles, dissaproving frowns, and cold calculation. In the center of the room stood a familiar face, that of First Enchanter Irving.

First Enchanter Irving and Knight Commander Gregoir stood side by side, forming an interesting contrast of two men who had spent their entire lives within the circle tower. Gregoir had been the son of a templar and his wife, and had grown up to follow in his father's footsteps. He was broad of shoulder and still in good form for a man pushing his sixties, with a neatly trimmed grey beard and hair. Irving, meanwhile, was brought to the tower at a young age, and had been promoted to Senior Enchanter for his discovery of medicine to help fight a disease known as Lyriastroph, in which lyrium introduced into the bloodstream begins to transfigure vital bodilly fluids into more lyrium. His discovery saved the lives of many dwarves, templars, and mages, and secured his position for life. His own hair and beard were long and unkempt, as though he had just awoken. Though he always looked that way, it gave Daylen some small hope that this wasn't simply a routine he was going through.

"Magic is meant to serve man, and never to rule over him." Gregoir began, pacing before Daylen. "Thus spoke the prophet Andraste as she cast down the Tevinter Imperium." he continued. Daylen nodded, well aware of the history behind the chantry. Every resident of the tower, barring the Tranquil, were forced to spend four hours on the first day of every week to worship. "Your magic is a gift, but it's also a curse. Demons of the fade are drawn towards you, to use your power to breach the barrier between worlds and let themselves into ours. Should they do so, you shall perish, and become an abomination."

"As a test of your skills, you are to take the Harrowing." Irving now spoke, his own voice low and rough from years of a chronic throat disease. "You are to enter the fade, and prove yourself worthy by confronting a demon. Should you suceed, you shall become a full mage of the circle. Should you fail, you shall perish." His tone, while grave, was encouraging. He sounded, at the very least, as though he saw this as more than a bothersome chore.

Irving directed Daylen's gaze towards the center of the room, where a bowl sat perched upon a stand. The bowl was filled with a glowing blue liquid, and gave off steady light through the chamber. "This is Lyrium, and it will act as your gateway into the fade. You must go armed only with your will. To begin your harrowing, you must simply touch the lyrium. Maker watch over you, my child."

With that, Gregoir, Cullen and Irving all stepped back, leaving Daylen alone in the center of the room. Swallowing once, he stepped up to the bowl of Lyrium and brushed his hand over the surface. He was unconcious before his body hit the floor.

**Well, this seems as good of a place for a scene break as any. For every origin story, I'll be including a little prelude that leads into the opening of the story. Just to help get all that pesky character establishment out of the way. Thank you for reading, and please comment! **


	3. Lucidity

**Authors Note: I do not own Dragon Age. Everything involved is the intellectual property of Bioware and others contributing to the franchise, and I profit in no way other than self gratification. **

**Chapter 2: Lucidity**

Daylen awoke under a green and black sky, and, for the second time that day, bit back a yelp. He stood up quickly, and found, to his surprise, that instead of the white, loose robe he had been given, he was now wearing his usual apprentice robes, purple and blue. Patting his head, he found that he was not wearing any cowl, which relieved him. The proper mage headwear was notoriously stupid looking. However, when he stopped to survey his surroundings, his sense of fashion took an immediate backseat to fear.

The stone island he stood upon floated within a void of nothingness, filled with other islands floating within green and black fog. The island Daylen stood upon was long, narrow in places and fat in others, made of three main "Platforms" he could see and one that he stood upon at the moment. They were connected by the various winding, uncomfortably narrow stone walkways.

Daylen was not alone. On the path connecting his platform to the next floated a tiny ball of light, roughtly the size of his own head. A wisp wraith. Daylen recalled a book he had read a few years ago, with a small summary on the creatures. Demons that had been destroyed or starved clung to life in the form of a wisp, the only thing remaining of them being their intense hatred for anything alive. In the mortal realms, they were associated with legends of hinkypunks and will-o'-wisps, luring unsuspecting travelers to their dooms.

The wisp advanced, bobbing about up and down, as though it had trouble even keeping itself aloft for lack of energy. Daylen put his hands together now, as though to pray, trying to keep calm, until the creature was within range. It stopped, and a low crackle of power began to emit from it. Daylen wouldn't give it the chance.

Pulling his hands apart, he forced his own power out from his hands and into a arc before him, forcing all heat to leave the area. The ground frosted over, and the wisp itself glowed slightly more before flickering out of existance. A perfect sphere of ice hung in the air momentarilly, and then dropped to the earth, shattering on impact. Daylen grinned, and watched as the thin frost immediatly thawed out.

"Well, this might not be so bad." he mumbled.

"Your a fool if you think it's all as easy as fighting wisps." Another voice said, from the vicinity of Daylen's ankles. Daylen swore that he floated above the ground for a few moments, before tripping over backwards. Sitting on it's hind legs before him was a rat roughly the size of a housecat. A rather big house cat. Of course, Daylen had only seen one cat in his life, and that thing had been a brutal mouser. Mr. Wiggums, he was called.

"Your thinking about Mr. Wiggums, aren't you?" The mouse asked. Daylen jolted again. "Oh stop that. If you can't handle a talking mouse, you'll never get past that demon."

"How do you know about Mr. Wiggums?" Daylen asked, grasping for familiar territory.

"Oh please, you think you're the first apprentice I've seen here? The last few couldn't shut up about the bloody thing. Course, the last time I checked he had been possessed by a rage demon."

"Killed three tempars before Senior Enchanter Uldred managed to make it explode." Daylen recalled, remembering the period in which the kitchens had been closed off to purge away all lingering demonic influences and clean up the cat guts.

"Back in my day, the mouser was named Brandy." the mouse sighed, sounding wistful. With a small pop, the mouse vanished and was replaced by a young man wearing yellow and red robes, similar to those of a Senior Enchanter. "I think her name was Brandy...or was it Whiskey? Moonshine? I know it had something to do with alchohol." He muttered, placing a palm on his forehead

"You were an apprentice?" Daylen asked, confused at the sudden transformation.

"So very long ago...I was taken in the night for my Harrowing, just like you. But I took too long to find my demon, and the templars must have killed my body." the man explained. "I've spent so long here...I think. Time doesn't pass here, so...it may have been monthes, or years...err...do you know who I am?" He asked, sounding hopeful. Daylen looked at him closely, and shook his head. He couldn't remember an apprentice who had looked like the man.

"Blast. In that case, you may call me Mouse. It's the only thing I can go by now. The fade plays tricks on your mind, and it takes away everything you used to be...even now I only have flashes of what used to happen in the tower." He admitted. Daylen nodded, sympathetic. However, he was already suspicious of "Mouse". There was something off about the way he talked...and his robes.

"Did all apprentices wear those robes back in your day?" Daylen asked, innocently. "They look an awful like the robes the Senior Enchanters wear now."

"Oh, these...Yes, the apprentices all wore these kinds of robes, I believe. The thing is, when apprentices grow into Senior Enchanters, they are allowed to pick the wardrobe." Mouse said, uninterested. Daylen nodded, trying to hide his discomfort. He knew that the Chantry decided the attire of the mages, though this may have changed over countless years. Still, he didn't trust this convienent assistant, who had already shown how to change his form.

"So...where must I go? I have to finish this quickly, so I can get back." Daylen said, rising back to his feet. Mouse, with another pop, returned to his namesakes form.

"Each platform holds a test for the young mages, spirits of the fade. Come, follow me." With that, the rodent scurried down the first narrow pathway. Daylen cautiously stepped onto the thin rock bridge, ready for it to collapse under his weight. When it didn't, he took another cautious step, then another. Halfway across, his nerves gave out and he made a short, frenzied dash over to the other side, stopping to pant once he had reached relatively solid ground. Hands on his knees, he glanced around for Mouse. The rodent had dissapeared, though Daylen was far from alone.

The platform before him bore what appeared to be a forge, in the open air. A glowing figure in the shape of a man withdrew a five foot, metal rod from the fire and placed it on a long, flat stone table. He held a hand out into empty air, and a tool floated from another stone table over into his hand. He set to work carving small figures and runes into the surface of the rod, which appeared to be some variety of brown metal. Oddly enough, it looked like it was wood, appearing to be grained and sanded, yet had just been pulled out of a fire unscathed.

After the spirit finished carving around the base of the staff, he took one end in both hands and pulled it apart, much like the licorice braids that the younger students snacked on on holidays. He pulled the two strands apart roughly a foot down the rod, and then stretched them, twisting them into two entwining branches ending in leaf shaped wings. Inspecting it, and finding it satisfying, the spirit left the staff upon the table and turned to greet it's visitor.

"Greetings, Young Mortal! I Am Valor, A Spirit Of The Fade." The spirit had a large, booming voice that seemed to come from everywhere at once. It sounded friendly enough, though there was an element of over exageration there, much like the traveling bards and players who would perform theatrical productions. "Yet Another One Of You Mages Forced Into This Cowardly Test." Daylen began to wonder how to politely request Valor lower it's voice, but the glowing figure gave him no time to get a word in edgewise.

"No Matter. I Am Here As Part Of Your Test, Should You Choose To Indulge Me. As You Can See, I Have Just Finished A Fine Staff That Would Aid You Greatly In Your Battle To Come. Do You Wish To Use It?" Valor asked, motioning to his creation with one hand. Daylen glanced at it, noting how perfect it looked as compared to the staffs that the apprentices used, mass produced by Orzammar dwarves. He was about to accept, but caught himself.

"What's the catch?" Daylen asked, noting now that there were many weapon racks that seemed to have only just formed into existance, filled with several lethal looking weapons.

"Ah, A Sharp One! In Order To Have The Honor Of Bearing My Staff, You Must Prove Yourself Worthy In Single Combat Against Me!" Valor held out his right hand, and a longsword detatched itself from it's rack and flew into the spirits welcoming grasp. Holding out his left hand, Valor summoned a shield that slid easilly onto his arm. Once the weapons came into contact with him, they adopted the same steady golden glow that made Valor slightly uncomfortable to look directly at.

"Do I have to...beat you? What happens if you win?"Daylen grew more worried, especially when he noticed how Valor effectivly stood directly between him and the next pathway.

"Oh, Silly Mortal. I Am A Spirit As Old As The Realm We Live In. You, A Fragile Thing, Gone In Mere Decades?" Valor broke into a ringing, booming laugh that failed to settle Daylen's worries to ease. "No, Mortal, You Need Not Defeat Me, Merely Prove Yourself Capable Of Fighting. Should You Prove Worthy Enough, I Shall Stop Our Duel And The Staff Is Yours. Should You Fail, You Shall Fall By My Blade, And It Will Be A Much Easier Death For You Than Whatever Your Hunter Has Devised For You." Valor now adopted a fighters stance, shield out, Sword aloft. "Choose, Mortal."

Daylen gulped, and realized just how unprepared he was for this moment...then he took in a deep breath, and nodded.

"I Accept your-" Daylen was cut off when the blade of Valor whistled past his face, and Daylen topped backwards with a yulp. He landed on his back, and quickly rolled to the right to avoid a downwards stab from the spirit. Daylen jumped to his feet, and held his hands out infront of him, willling power between his palms. A seed for fire appeared there, and he took a deep breath in and pushed outwards with his magic. The flame streamed outwards like water from a geyser, engulfing Valor as it pulled it's sword from the stone ground. The spirit flinched from the flames, but it then turned and advanced through them. Daylen dove aside, and just in time. A shred of his robes sleeves had caught themselves on the edge of the blade, and fluttered to the ground.

Falling to his side after diving out of the way, Daylen looked at his hand, then spat a small gob of saliva onto it. Taking that hand, he slapped it onto the ground. Immediately, a pool of grease rose from the stone, outwards from Daylen's impact. Daylen rolled away in time, and Valor caught his feet within it. Loosing his balance, the spirit fell with a clatter of metal. Daylen backed up now, holding his hands an equidistance apart before him and spinning then, as though he rolled a ball between his palms. In the area he encircled, small sparks began to form. When Valor looked up, it saw Daylen holding a ball of lightning.

"Maker help me." Daylen whispered, and flung the ball outwards. The lightning straightened out into a bolt, and struck Valor head on as he struggled to gain footing in the grease trap spell. The spirit faltered, fell...then calmly stood up again, as though the grease was no trouble. With a wave of his sword, Valor calmly swept the grease off the platform, and strode up to Daylen, who found himself standing against the edge of the Island. His choices seemed to waver between certain death upon a dream blade or possible death falling into a swirling black void.

Valor's sword and shield vanished with another flare of light, almost enough to blind Daylen. He would have indeed tumbled over backwards were it not for Valor's quick hand, which yanked him into the center of the platform, towards the table with the staff. A second hand slapped him heartilly on the back, and Daylen would have been sent sprawling onto the ground were the spirit not holding him up.

"Well Fought, Young Mortal!" Valor spoke with the same lighthearted over the topness as before, as though being burned, greased and electrocuted was an everyday occurance for him. "Very Nice! Now, As I Promised, Here Is Your Staff." The staff in question promptly stood up on it's own on the table, then slowly floated over, hovering directly before Daylen. Daylen grasped it with both hands, and turned to look at the spirit. However, as he opened his mouth, there was a flash of light, and Valor, his forge, and his weapons were gone, leaving only Daylen, a staff, and a few stone tables in the middle of the fade.

However, there was one addition to the landscape. A small brown shape peaking out from behind a table.

"You could have told me about him!" Daylen said, voice rising, glancing at the area where a large chunk of his sleeve had been severed from his robe. However, he did a double take as he noticed his sleeve was once again whole. "Where did you go?"

"I had to hide! Look, Valor was the reason I failed my Harrowing. His duel took up so long and I couldn't get an advantage in time. The templars killed me, and I had to run. Ever time since that I've come near, if he could see me, he would attempt to kill me in order to 'Finish the duel'". Mouse explained, once again taking his human form. "Listen, the next test at the very least is easier. Come on." Returning to his animal form, Mouse scampered away onto the stone bridge. Daylen, hesitant, followed.

The next platform was much like the last one, a disk of stone. However, instead of Valor's forge, there was only one main feature that drew the eye. Dayeln wished that it hadn't, for he was now fighting the urge to vomit into the void.

Daylen remembered the lessons his class had recieved on the Darkspawn taint. It corrupted living things, driving whatever wasn't prepared or treated to madness and an early grave. One scholar had managed to illustrate several examples of creatures corrupted by the darkspawn taint, and this one looked almost exactly like the pictures in his book.

It was the general shape of a bear, but that was where the resemblance stopped. It was twice the size, dwarfing Daylen even while it rested on the ground. It's skin seemed to have been peeled away, leaving it's muscles and organs exposed to the world, and producing a putrid smell. Emerging from several points of the body were sharp spiky fins made of what looked like bone. The eyes were unnaturally yellow, and possessed a worrying intelligence. Daylen gripped his staff, but the bear lazilly raised one paw and gave out a loud yawn.

"Oh stop that. Surely we do not need to resort to violence here. We are all sophisticated, worldly gentlemen, are we not?" The bear's voice was higher than Daylen would have expected, and he spoke as if he was continiously fighting down a yawn.

"...You're a demon." Daylen began, and the bear cut him off.

"Yes, yes, demons bad, evil, destroy, kill, blah blah blah. I am merely here to participate in your test. As you've probably noticed, I block the pathway to the next area." The demon shifted it's bulk, and Daylen noticed that it was indeed directly in the way.

"How can I get you to move?"

"Well, politely asking would be a start." The demon sounded annoyed now. Daylen opened his mouth, but before he could speak, "But it won't work. I lost a battle of wits to one of your mages long ago, so you have to answer my riddles in order to pass, or else I'll devour you...should I feel like it." The demon sounded much like several of the senior enchanters, grumbling, reluctant to be around others, and rather fond of playing around with youths.

"Fine. What's the first riddle?" Daylen asked, growing increasingly annoyed by this entire test. After years of his teachers pounding a fear of this day, in which he would probably die and be burned on a raft, it basically fell down to follow the rodent, trip the swordsman, and answer some riddles.

"I have oceans without water, shores without sand, cities without peope and mountains without peaks." The spirit began, before Daylen cut him off.

"A map."

"Right. Next, I am seldom touched, but often held. If you have wit, you'll use me w-"

"My Tongue."

"The blasted mages have been leaking my riddles, haven't they." The demon sounded exactly like Knight Commander Gregoir the day that he had discovered Anders had managed to magically enhance the growth of a grape vine in order to climb from the apprentice dormitories and flee across the lake.

"Yes." Daylen had been poised these questions by several newly graduated mages who seemed eager to stump the vulnerable apprentices. After figuring it out the first time, he had gotten less and less patient with each sucessive review. "The last answer is a dream, isn't it?"

"Those were the same questions he asked me in my time." Mouse chimed in, sounding almost accusitory.

"...Well, it might have been, but now I see I'll have to ask a new question. Blasted mages...I hate having to replace these." he rumbled. Daylen mentally kicked himself for not lying. "Very well, my clever young friend, you know I am a demon. The question I ask you is what kind am I?" The demon sounded almost smug, and had an expression much akin to Mr. Wiggums after he had eaten Senior Enchanter Jainsbury's pet rabbit.

Daylen backed up, looking over the demon. Demons came in many varieties, feeding off of the sins of mankind. Pride, desire, sloth, hunger, rage...hmm...

Daylen took in another deep breath, and gagged. The smell from the demon had intensified. It smelled like rot, and dust, and decay. He paused, and took in another, tiny sniff. He glanced at the bear, and noticed, despite it's size, it was actually rather thin. It hated to replace things, did not have the energy to move...

"You're a demon of Sloth." Daylen said, hands clenching his staff just in case things turned sour here. The demon, without a word, vanished with a pop, only to re appear, much smaller now, only feet away, barely giving Daylen enough room to pass onto the next path. Mouse quickly shot through the gap, and Daylen inched around.

"Thank you for informing me of the mages." Sloth yawned. "Now away with you. I've grown bored with you." Daylen obliged, heading on to the final platform.

The final platform, much like the one before it, was bare of any features, simply Mouse, waiting for him in the center. Daylen tightened his grip on his staff, ready to fight now, preparing for the mouse to change into something monstrous and demonic. Which was why he was surprised when the fireball engulfed him from behind.

Screaming and shouting, Daylen dove to the side, desperately throwing power over himself to extinguish the flames with a coating of frost. Turning, he saw what appeared to be a cross between a slug, a salamander, and a plant. Growing from one narrow leg that sank into the ground, the creature had two spindly arms that it almost seemed to use to pull itself forward, as though it were rowing a boat. The face was small and reptilian, and the entire body was bright red and partially on fire. Mouse scurried away now, clearly terrified.

"So you've come, mortal...at last, once I've-" The demon began to say in a voice that crackled like logs in a fire before Daylen yanked the heat out of the air around it, freezing it solid fora few seconds. With a frustrated yell, the demon shattered it's icy coating and advanced, clearly not interested in making threats when it's prey had already gone on the offensive. Leaning forward, it unleashed a tongue of flames that Daylen only just managed to avoid, diving to the side and rolling away from a swipe of the claws.

"He's a demon of rage!" Mouse said from somewhere, out of sight. "It's not good at planning ahead!" Daylen nodded, sweeping the staff before him. A small burst of golden energy released itself from the tip as he swung, hitting the demon as though it were a handball. Daylen ducked around, raced to the other side of the platform, and repeated his cold spell again. The demon took slightly longer this time to break out of it's icy shell, which he took as a good sign.

"I SHALL TAKE YOUR BODY AND RAZE THE LANDS OF THE MORTAL REALM FOR THIS!" The demon shouted, advancing faster now. Daylen made a fist, struck the ground, and raised it up. To his right, a large chunk of stone rose to the level of his fist. Daylen threw his hand out, and the fist of stone raced to hit the Rage Demon. Indeed, ever time it was hit, it only grew more and more frenzied. A thrown bolt of lightning followed the stone fist before the demon drew back, with the sound of an intake of air.

"Fireball! Run, run!" Mouse shouted from his hiding place. Daylen ran around the edge of the disk, almost skidding off into the endless void at one point. He had stopped for a moment when the fireball burst over the side of the cliff. The demon had missed him. Daylen turned, and brought power now into his two hands, locking them together and focusing on his hunter.

Now, two ethreal arms of shadows reached down from above, gripping the demon tightly in it's fingers. Daylen squeezed, and the Demon screamed in pain and rage as it was choked. Finally, Daylen took his hands, interlocked his fingers, then ripped them apart. The demon vanished in a cloud of fire as the hands ripped it apart, leaving nothing but a scorched trail in the stone where it had dragged itself along.

Mouse pulled himself up, having apparently been hanging over the edge of the platform. He was human again. Daylen raced over, and the two stood there, on the edge of the stone disk.

"Oh thank the Maker! I can't believe you did it!" Mouse said, with the same tone of voice one might use when they had just seen the King. "You actually did it!"

"I can't believe it was that easy!" Daylen was trying not to laugh now, relieved as he was. His skin smarted, though it showed no signs of being burnt.

"That's because you're one of the true ones! A real, genuine mage!" Mouse said, grasping Daylen's hands with the intensity of a vice. "You've done it! I...I'd lost hope, but...maybe..."

Daylen stopped laughing now, trying to catch his breath, and pull his hands away from Mouse's grasp. For moments, he had let his guard down, assuming Mouse was indeed as harmless as he seemed. "Mouse, let go of my hands. You're hurting me."

"I...I just...I think now I know a way to help myself. Even if my body is dead, perhaps...listen, could you help me? Help me to get out?" He asked, pleading now, desperation showing in his eyes...his curious, golden eyes...

"Yes, yes, as soon as I get back, I'll try to find a way to summon you from the Fade!" Daylen lied, pulling in vain on his hands. Mouse pulled him closer now, faces dangerously close.

"NO! IT MUST BE NOW! IT MUST BE NOW!" He was screaming, almost in pain. "LET ME IN! LET ME IN!"

"LET GO OF ME!" Daylen kicked out with one leg, and pushed Mouse back. There was a moment when the man was suspended in the air, just off of the disk...then he changed.

"Perhaps they are right about you." Mouse's voice was no longer small and weak. Instead, it was deep, powerful, confident in itself. The form shifted, growing taller, wider, muscular. "Know this mage. The true trials one must face are ones of pre conceptions. Judgements. Chances. Trust. And know that true tests never end." Before the monstrous transformation could continue, Daylen blacked out.


	4. Through the Looking Glass

**Welp, that's Daylen out of the way. Now for a twist, ladies and gentlemen! **

**Remember, comments are greatly appreciated, and I would love to get some advice on how to improve my writing style. **

**Authors Note: I do not own Dragon Age. Everything involved is the intellectual property of Bioware and others contributing to the franchise, and I profit in no way other than self gratification. **

**Chapter 3: Through the Looking Glass**

Neria Surana was fast asleep in the mages quarters when she felt the power ripple over her, jolting her out of bed. A single ripple of power...and, judging by the fact that the rest of the mages quarters was quiet, she was pretty sure of what it came from. Wasting no time, she went to her drawers and pulled out the materials she would need to find the cause of her rude awakening. A silverite backed mirror, a pouch of lyrium dust, and a rather sharp dagger.

The mirror was set on her bedside table, and a light coat of dust went onto the mirror, and onto each of her eyelids. She followed with a drop of blood, for power, on both eyelids and her mirror's surface. Followed were a few words of power, and Neria sent her magic into her eyes, as to see.

What Neria saw was a campsite being swiftly taken apart by two men, one younger with dirty blond hair, and one older with black hair. The older man gave instructions to the younger one, and occaisonally stopped to jot a few things down on a small pad of paper. Neria swiftly made a cut on her fingertip, drew a line of blood around the edge of the mirror counterclockwise, and ordered her magic to work it's way backwards. What she saw now was a series of images, featuring the older, bearded man browsing what appeared to be the marketplace of Denerim, though the sky was unsettlingly red and the stall he was browsing couldn't decide whether it sold gems, jewelry, books, paraphenalia or maps. After this, the lingering presence of the dream faded out, leaving only the campsite. The two men were seperating now, the young man heading south, and the older man heading west.

Neria quickly scrubbed the blood drops off of her eyes and her mirror, and sent healing magic into her cuts. Throwing on a dressing gown, Neria went off to the library, only to run into a band fo templars and the senior enchanter the moment she stepped out of her door. She noted the white robed individual that was supported by the Knight Commander and the junior knight Cullen.

"Oh, the first harrowing of the year was a sucess, was it?" Neria asked, glancing at the lanky, dark haired youth. "Well, good for him. Pardon me, I've got to get to the libra-" She began, turning away, before one of the templars caught her shoulder.

"You know the rules, Neria. Mages are not to roam the tower at night without supervision." First Enchanter Irving said, pinching the bridge of his nose. This very same situation had arisen many times before, when Neria would find rare flashes of sights in the middle of the night.

"First Enchanter, I just felt a disturbance. Ever since I started my work on scrying magic, I've never felt something this intense, and I need to get my research done as quickly as possible in order to find out what it means!" Neria argued. "Couldn't I just take a templar along with me? I just need to get to the library and confirm my findings." she reasoned. Irving turned to the assembled templars.

"Would any of you care to accompany Miss Surana to the library?" he asked. Immediatly, Cullen snapped up, his eyes having glazed over.

"Oh, sir, yes. I'll gladly-" Cullen, so eager to go, let go of his hold on the apprentice he was holding up, and the young man slipped to the floor with a rather loud thunk. There was an awkward moment off silence, before the young man stirred.

"Oww..." He groaned. With a sigh, Irving held up his staff and muttered something. A pale orange light glowed faintly about the apprentice's head, and he fell back to sleep.

"...Cullen, you have my leave to accompany Miss Surana." Gregoir said, before motioning to another templar to help him with the young apprentice. The party resumed their travel down the hallway and out of sight, leaving the recently admitted templar alone with the recently admitted mage. Cullen, a curly brown haired, wide shouldered young man with fair skin and bright eyes, seemed quiet the opposite for the petite, dark skinned, dark haired mage, who came only to his shoulders.

"Thanks Cullen." Neria said, relieved, before grabbing his hand. "Come on. No time to waste." With that, she dragged the young man down the hall, unaware that his face was steadilly turning quite red.

It was in the early hours of the morning when Cullen awoke, his head inside an open tome of herbal catalysts for projection of spells. Raising his head, he saw Neria, alternating between giving the books infront of her a look that a starving man would give a feast and writing things down with such ferocity that he was sure her quill had etched her notes onto the table beneath her paper.

"How is it?" He asked, attempting to clear the feeling of morning breath from his mouth. Neria glanced up, then returned to her work.

"Well, the thing is that I can't determine where the vision came from, only where it impacted. Like if I hid someone on the shore of the island and told them to throw a rock. If you only saw the rock when it hit the water, it's too late to figure out where it came from. What I felt were the ripples." Neria explained, making vague gestures with her free hand. "However, that would mean someone with powerful scrying and vision magic is out there, and that someone is quite powerful. The source is magic, but it didn't come from the tower, otherwise I would have sensed it here."

"So that means that an apostate sent that man you mentioned his vision?" Cullen asked, suddenly alert. Neria nodded grimly.

"Yes. Unless it was one of the Dalish Elves or possibly one of the mages that the tower has lent out to the army at Ostagar. But this felt...different. Dalish magic is more attuned to affixing to natural power, healing, guidance and other things that would help for life on the road. And I'm the only mage I know of in the tower who bothers to even study scrying magic."

"Should I inform the Knight Commander?" Cullen asked, now slightly unsure. Neria shook her head.

"There is one more possibility...It could have been the darkspawn. Apparently, the darkspawn have their own mages. They're called Emissaries. The Emissaries use something much like blood magic. However, I didn't feel anything like the Darkspawn taint or blood magic in the vision, which makes this all the more unusual. So it's either an apostate, or something else entirely." She sighed, lowering her head. "If only I knew what the vision was about, then I might be able to figure out what on earth is going on!" She groaned. "But unless I find either who sent it or who recieved it, I'm pretty much out of luck."

"Sorry Neria." Cullen said, sheepishly.

"Oh, no...no, I'm just frustrated...thanks Cullen. Listen, you should probably get to bed. You were up all night with the Harrowing, and it's morning now, so I'm free to roam the tower." She said, stiffling a yawn. Cullen gave her a slightly shaky grin.

"You should go to sleep as well. Or at least find a change of clothes." He said. Neria glanced down at her dressing robe and sighed.

"You're right...thanks again Cullen. Nigh-...er, morning." With that, she headed off, leaving a rather flustered templar and a pile of books.

**Welp, I'm off to a cousin's wedding, but I'll be working out the rest of Neria and Daylen's story on the way there. After that, we march on Orzammar! Remember, comments are greatly appreciated. Hugs and kisses, love Lupine Volt. Toodles! **


	5. Ring around the Roses

**Hey guys, thanks for your support! I enjoy writing this story on my own, but I also enjoy feedback. shadowwolf101286, Auroraas, thank you for your reviews, and I hope to see more from all of you. I know your out there...please...must...have...feedback. I won't, however, be one of those authors who holds their story hostage unless my demands are complied with and my review quota is met. However, one thing that attracts me to reading a story is seeing how many reviews it gets, and the more reviews it has, the more likely it is to be worth my while. I'm assuming that you hold the same principle, otherwise we'd all be too busy browsing every story on this site. **

**My demented, whiny ramblings aside, here comes the next part of the Magi Origin.**

**Authors Note: I do not own Dragon Age. Everything involved is the intellectual property of Bioware and others contributing to the franchise, and I profit in no way other than self gratification. **

**Chapter 4: Ring around the Roses.**

Jowan paced around the apprentice quarters, unable to stop himself from tracing a long ring around the bed where Daylen rested upon. The rest of the apprentices hung back, watching, all hoping for the chance to talk with the first new mage of the season. Not the first to take the Harrowing, however... A girl by the name of Kassian had vanished from her bed a week before, and a burning raft was set off the next day.

Daylen stirred, head aching for some reason, and woke up. His first thought, oddly enough, was how nice it was to wake up without having to choke down a scream of terror. His second thought was more of an impoverished moan of discomfort when his head promptly began to throb. His third thought was something along the lines of "Why are all these people coming so close?"

Indeed, with his moan of discomfort, Daylen had unwittingly unleashed the wrath of a dormitory filled with curious, high strung mages, who all promptly rushed to question him before he could recall the fact he was not to tell anyone about what the Harrowing was about. Fortunately for him, Jowan had been prepared for this.

"Okay, okay! Everyone back!" The lanky, pale, black haired apprentice said, cupping his hands. Immediatly, around Daylen's bed a wall of energy arose, pushing the well wishers/opportunity grabbers back far enough to give Daylen room to breathe. Daylen sat up, only to immediatly hit his head on the invisible cocoon Jowan had put around him.

"Just once I'd like to wake up and have nothing bad happen...just once." Daylen grumbled, looking around. "Look, before any of you ask, no. I'm not telling you about the Harrowing. Yes, it was hard, but that's all your getting out of me. Just let me tell you that I'm not going to 'rat' out the testing process." He said, hoping that they would catch the tiny hint when their time came. Most of the apprentices drifted away at this point, leaving only the ones Daylen could actually consider his friends. Petra had taken a seat on the bed across the row from him, and Kelli sat next to her. Kinnon had gotten the water pitcher and was filling a glass for Daylen. Daylen, greatful, reached to take it, only for the cocoon to jar Kinnons hand, spilling water over him like a dome.

"Jowan, I think you might want to take that down." Petra noted. The sheepish youth unclenched his hands and spread them apart, leaving the remaining water on the side of the shield to fall to the ground in a messy puddle. Kinnon handed over another glass, and Daylen took a long drink of water.

"So, how was it?" Kinnon asked, taking a seat on the foot of the bed. Jowan had pulled up a stool and was listening intently.

"I'm not going to lie...it was hard, it was scary, and it surprised me. Just...when they take you, don't trust your sense, and be ready to react." he said, still picturing the sword of Valor whistling past his nose.

"When they take me...try if they take me." Jowan grumbled. Petra rolled her eyes.

"Here we go again."

"Don't give me that. I've been here longer than any of you, but I still haven't been taken for my Harrowing! I'm beginning to think that they won't take me at all." Jowan snapped. Kelli shuddered.

"Please, Jowan, don't talk like that...you know what happens to the ones that aren't tested..." She whispered, wrapping her arms around herself as if she had been chilled. The five were all silent for a few moments. Years of growing up in the circle had taught them that mages ended up in three catagories. There were those who go through the Harrowing and survive. There are those who are sent off on the raft. And then there are those who were made tranquill.

"It's...It's like talking to someone who isn't right in the head..." Kelli shuddered now. "Like that kitchen maid's son, the one who had the accident and fell down the stairs. He's our age, but he still acts like a child...but in a way it's worse, because..."

"They're intelligent." Jowan continued. "It's like listening to someone reading from a script...no soul whatsoever. That's why I'm afraid..."

"Jowan, the senior enchanters probably will take you soon. You know you've been having trouble with most of your offensive and healing spells. You're enchantments, supplimental and defensive spells are all really good. From what I saw though, you'll need those for the Harrowing. If you get too worried, you'll just end up like Wendell." Daylen assured his friend, patting him on the arm.

"I should have gone last year, with Neria, and Jance, and Kornet. But no, I'm still stuck down here!" Jowan pulled away. "Listen, I've got to go...I need to meet someone." With that, the apprentice left, leaving only four mages.

"...I'm starting to think he may have a point." Kinnon admitted. "Plus those rumors that have been going around..." he lowered his voice now, only to be brained by Petra's thrown glass.

"Stop that! Jowan wouldn't use blood magic. The guy vomited when Mr. Wiggums went up in smoke." she argued. "He wouldn't have the stomach to make a deal with a demon."

"Well, that's not the only way! There's plenty on blood magic in the library, and that's enough to learn the basics." Kinnon argued. Kelli stood up.

"Please, please, please, please don't talk about this..." she looked around. "You know that the templars are just looking for excuses to make anyone they want Tranquil!" she left at this point, glancing around everywhere.

"...I didn't start that rumor, you know that. Jowan just started sneaking around with someone." Kinnon went on the defensive at this point. Petra sighed and nodded. "Still won't tell any of us who she is...unless maybe-"

"Jowan's not into men." Petra cut him off. "I've got to go...with Wynne gone to Ostagar, I'm under Torrin for the time being. I swear on Andraste that if that man doesn't lighten up on the workload, I will take that reference section and shove it up his-"

"Petra, don't you have to meet him for that make up exam on entropy?" Kinnon cut her off. Petra, eyes wide, grabbed her staff and went, leaving Kinnon and Daylen alone.

"Well...whoa." Daylen sat up at this point. "Andraste's sword, I'm actually a mage now..." Daylen said, stunned, eyes unfocused. Kinnon patted him on the back.

"Congradulations on that, Day. Listen, First Enchanter Irving wanted to see you once you woke up. He should be upstairs in his quarters." He stood up at this point. "Any parting words of advice before you leave the apprentice dormitories forever?" he asked. Daylen swung his legs out of bed, and onto the puddle of water on the floor. With a yell, he slipped, landing face first on the stone floor.

"...I'm probably not the one you want to be getting advice from." Daylen mumbled from his position.

Neria had gotten out of bed at this point, and had returned to the library. Cullen had also come, and now stood directly behind her as she piled several books into his arms.

"I may have figured it out. The Tevinter Impirium has had several documented cases of what they called 'dreamstalkers', mages who could freely travel throughout the fade and into the dreams of others at will. Usually, if one mage encounters another in a dream, it means that the two have been summoned from the same source, or that they have a powerful connection. Like when the twins last year took their Harrowing." She placed another book onto the pile Cullen was carrying, raising it up to his chin.

"What happened with the twins?" He asked, confused. Neria picked out a final volume and led him to a table, before giving a quick glance to make sure that no apprentices were around. None were there, so she spoke to Cullen.

"When they took the first twin, Jimslin, and put him in the fade, his twin sister, still in the apprentice quarters, was pulled into the fade with him. They completed the test together, and to keep Sarah from revealing the Harrowing and what had happened, First Enchanter Irving had her promoted to mage instantly." Neria explained, rifling through her bag for her notes. "Now, set those down on the table, and see if you can find the book I gave you about dream symbolism. Symbolism is important mainly to the person the dream is experienced by, but until I find him, if I ever do, but I can make some broad generalizations." Cullen handed her a slim purple book, and she immediatly flipped it open. "There's another book, a dream dictionary, with a white cover. I want you to look through that, and we'll hopefully find something. "

Neria handed Cullen a list of what she had managed to glimpse from the dream of the man. She had written down "marketplace, old woman, diamond, ruby, dust, banner, torn, mirror, no reflection, map, bloodstain. Spider, flute, cage. Hole, suicide."

"What did this man look like? I could maybe go to town, ask to see if anyone has seen him." Cullen offered. Neria paused, and shrugged.

"I think he was heading this way, so that might work. Okay, how about tommorow? You're looking for a man, in his forties to fifties, with blair hair tied back in a ponytail and a beard. He wore white robes, and he carried a sword and dagger." She said. Cullen blinked, and pointed to someone behind her.

"Much like the Grey Warden over there?" He asked, and Neria turned around to see the man of her vision standing directly behind her, leaning on a bookcase, holding a piece of paper. He gave her a small, polite bow and smile.

"Greetings. It would seem that we have something to talk about."

Cullen, Neria and Duncan, the Grey Warden, had gone into the small workroom Neria had claimed for her research into scrying magic. Neria had explained her experience, and Duncan his. He also gave her his list of observations from his vision.

"So it definatly was not simply a regular dream, but instead something that was sent to me. But why?" Duncan pondered, flipping through a book.

"Whoever sent you that vision, it must have been someone very powerful. It didn't feel like blood magic, or darkspawn...tell me, are there any mages you know who would be able to do this?"

"No, not to my knowledge. Warden mages are either focused on offensive magic or healing. However, there aren't any mage wardens in Ferelden right now."

"If it wasn't someone in Ferelden, then they would have to either be one of the dreamstalkers or extremely powerful apostates."

"Maybe-" Cullen began, but shrank away when the two promptly turned to face him. "Err...maybe it was...the Maker?" he suggested sheepishly. His self confidence was not improved by the fact that the two had given him a look as if he had sprouted a second head that spoke primarilly in verse. Duncan, being a battle hardened warrior, was not at all religious, though he respected those who were. Neria, having been oppressed by the Chantry all her life, was rather unfaithful.

"That...could be a possibility, yes." Duncan conceded.

"I don't think so. I felt magic." Neria cut in. Cullen gave her an odd look at this.

"Couldn't the Maker use magic? He did create it, after all." He pointed out. Neria, unable to give a counterargument to that, sighed and shrugged.

"Listen, Ser Duncan. You said that this dream made you want to look for new recruits for the wardens, right?" she asked. He nodded at this, glancing down at his list. "I want to come with you."

"What?" blurted Cullen.

"Why?" asked Duncan.

"Something is trying to contact you, someone who knows scry magic. I need to figure this out. If that means joining the wardens, then so be it." she locked her gaze with him, daring him to say no. He met her eyes, serious.

"The wardens are not a place for scholars. We need warriors, not academics." He countered. Neria held up her hands above her head and sent a blaze of fire into the air, scorching the stone ceiling. She followed that with a wave of her hand that produced many large icy spears. With a snap of her wrist, she cut them down flat, and they shattered on the floor. She then swept them together with her arms making wide movements, gathering it into a large pile, before crushing it into powder.

"I can hold my own as well as any mage in this tower. And you're wrong. The wardens could always use knowledge on the darkspawn, right? Maybe if I can perfect scry magic, I can help you sense when and where they'll pop up." Neria shot back. Duncan, not impressed, still held her gaze.

"We do not accept wardens by request, unless the situation is life or death. Even then, we hold reservations on that."

"You need every warden you can get right now, and you came to this tower to find some."

"How can you be sure that I didn't merely come to have my dream analyzed?" He asked. Neria faltered at that, biting her tongue. "You are right, however..." Duncan gave her a small smile as he spoke. "You do have determination...perhaps I-"

"Wait, wait, wait. Neria, you can't leave the tower!" Cullen cut in. Neria and Duncan both looked at him, and Neria rolled her eyes.

"Cullen, this is important. What I find could chance the entire face of scry magic as it is known to the public, and Grey Wardens are not bound by the circle." She pointed out, not noticing the clear, pleading look in his eyes. Duncan did, however, and tried to hold back a deep sigh. This was his one reservation with recruiting younger people into the wardens. They always had so much ahead of them, nothing to gain but everything to lose. In this case, however, she didn't even know what it was she would lose. Duncan looked between them, and cleared his throat.

"Neria, may Cullen and I have a word alone for a moment?" he asked. Looking at him oddly, she nodded, walking out of the room. Duncan drew closer to the younger man. "Boy, you're treading down a path that will not go anywhere, and you know that, right?" he asked, gently. Cullen gave him a look much akin to a puppy who had just been kicked. "The templar and the mage...the two never work out. Best case scenario, they relocate the mage to another circle. Otherwise, they execute the mage in question for 'seducing' a templar and strip him of his rank."

"IT...I could...If I could just-" Cullen stammered, trying not to meet the older mans eyes. Duncan held his shoulder.

"If you could what? Steal her phylactery? Take her away from the life of a mage? Live life in some small town, bribing the neighbors not to report you to the chantry?" Duncan shook his head. Cullen sudden perked up, eyes brighter.

"What if I could go with you? You said you were recruiting, right? So why not take me along with you, so I-"

"We do not accept wardens out of pity. Wardens should not be...together, involved...when there is battle to be had. If you are distracted, thinking of her instead of focusing on the battle, you could end up getting you, her, and several others killed."

"But I can fight! I-"

"You are a knight who only just got out of his apprenticeship. Your armor is polished mirror bright and has never seen combat, you've got bags under your eyes that tell me you haven't slept well in the past few weeks, and you only wish to join my order to protect a girl who does not notice the looks you give her." Duncan was firm on this. Cullen looked angry now, hand sliding towards the sword on his hip. "Do not try that, boy. I have lived on the field of combat since I was 18, and I spent my entire life before that fighting simply for survival. I will not be struck down by a lovesick templar boy." Duncan stood up now. "Go. Further your training. Perhaps one day, you will be a great warrior, perhaps not. You are young. The feelings you have for this girl will pass in time. But there is no future in the story you want to write."

Neria and Duncan had gone now to First Enchanter Irving, who, unfortunatly, was in the company of Knight Commander Gregoir. When Duncan revealed his intentions to bring Neria along, Gregoir was less than enthusiastic.

"No, this is not going to happen! We have already sent most of the Senior Enchanters to Ostagar to help the king already! Wynne, Uldred, Burnaby...we have given enough of our own to this war effort!" Gregoir insisted. The First Enchanter gave a chuckle at that.

"Enough of our own...since when have you felt such kinship with the mages, Gregoir?" he asked, his laugh cut off by a deep, hacking cough. Duncan and Neria exchanged sidelong glances.

"Why exactly do you want Miss Surana, anyways?" Gregoir asked Duncan. Duncan and Neria had agreed not to mention the dream that they knew about, and the connection to scry magic, as it would sound ever so slightly riddiculous. However, they were saved when a nervous young man cleared his throat in the doorway. Four pairs of eyes swung to meet him, and he looked very much like he was seriously considering backing out of the room at that.

"Err...You wished to see me, First Enchanter?" Daylen Amell asked, giving a small, shaky smile. First Enchanter Irving gave him a warm smile and waved his hand, inviting the boy in. Gregoir, knowing a dismissal when he saw one, left the room with a low grumble, much akin to a rather angry bear.

"Yes, yes...In accordance with your induction to our order, I wish to grant you this staff, this ring, and these robes in accordance with your joining of our brotherhood." Irving turned to his desk, and brought forth a magic staff, a set of new robes, and a silver ring. Daylen took these, slightly shaking now.

"Thank you, First Enchanter!" He said.

"Your Phylactery has been sent on to Denerim now." Irving added, and Daylens face fell slightly.

"Oh...my leash, you mean." He said, now far less cheerful. Neria rolled her eyes, remembering her once brilliant plan to, now that she was a full mage, steal her phylactery and go on the run. She had roughly the same reaction as Daylen had upon learning the news.

"Oh, give it time, my child. It is not nearly as bad as it seems." he responded. "Now then, Daylen, you know Neria well enough. This is Duncan, commander of the Grey Wardens." Daylen looked surprised at this.

"Oh! Um...Nice to meet you, ser. What brings you to the tower?" he asked, genuinely interested.

"I've come looking for more mages to assist in the aid of the combined efforts of both the King's armies and the Grey Wardens in dealing with the darkspawn in the south." Duncan explained. "Congradulations to you, young man, on completing your Harrowing."

"Hmm...I must say, I was impressed. Daylen, you may not know this, but your Harrowing was most likely the quickest one I've seen in quite a long time. I'm rather impressed with you." he gave Daylen a warm smile. Daylen smiled back, not wanting to admit he had mostly been able to cut through the entire trial of the Sloth Demon. Neria, standing behind the First Enchanter, actually gave him a curious look and mouthed the word 'sloth'. He gave a small nod, and she rolled her eyes.

"That is an impressive accomplishment for one so young. Tell me, Daylen, what do you wish to do now that you are a full mage?" Duncan asked. Daylen was caught off guard by the question.

"Well...err...probably what most mages do. I'll take up some sort of study, I guess. Like, uh...Neria, what do you study?"

"Scry magic." Neria replied curtly, watching as his expression switched to that of confusion.

"Um...yes, well...perhaps something like that..." he said. Duncan gave him a thoughtful look.

"Have you possibly considered putting your abilities to a more practical use?" he asked. All three mages in the room gave him an odd look, and Duncan remembered that he was speaking to people who had grown up in a place of learning. "Never mind. Senior Enchanter, have you considered my proposal?" He asked now, turning to Irving. Irving eyed Neria and Duncan thoughtfully, before speaking to her.

"Neria, you do understand that if you do this, you may never be able to return to this tower, correct? The Grey Wardens are not much on study."

"Actually, First Enchanter, it is my area of study that made Duncan grow interested in me, and made me want to go with him." She replied, now safe from the ears of the Knight Commander. Irving looked confused now.

"Ser Duncan, are you interested in scrying magic for something?" he asked. Duncan glanced at Daylen now, then back to Irving.

"Yes, but that is a subject for later. Will you give Neria leave to join the Grey Wardens or must I conscript her?" he asked. Irving sighed, and shook his head. Neria gave a small shout, gave the older man a quick hug, and promptly rushed off.

"I'll need to pack, Duncan. We shall talk in a little bit. When will we leave the tower?" She paused in the doorway.

"Tommorow afternoon at the latest. Finish any unfinished business and...find any information you can involving our...shared interest." With that, Neria went off. Duncan ignored the questioning looks of the two remaining mages.

"Very well then...Duncan, I presume you have not been to your quarters then. Daylen, would you kindly show him to his chambers? They are just past the affirmed mages quarters." he told the young man. Daylen nodded and turned to Duncan.

"Yes First Enchanter. Alright then, Ser-"

"Duncan will do, lad."

"In that case, please call me Daylen." The younger man said, now smiling. He was begining to like this dignified older man. The two walked out of the room, leaving only Irving alone with his thoughts. The older man turned to his desk, and glanced now at the pile of books that he had placed on it in the night. All the books had a common theme. Blood magic.

"So Neria asked to become a warden?" Daylen asked as the two men walked along the long corridor.

"She is interested in an experience I had that pertains to her area of study, and she seems a capable enough mage." Duncan replied. "What of you? If offered the chance, would you wish to become a warden?" he asked.

"Oh, well...I doubt I'd get the chance. I'm not exactly a fighter...I'm good with my magic, and I think that your order is doing the right thing!" He said, hoping not to offend. "I mean...I might, maybe. It would be amazing to go, see the world...if...I would. If I had the chance, I would. But I doubt you're offering." Daylen turned to the man, who shook his head.

"No...while your apparent ease with your Harrowing was impressive, it takes more to join my order. However, in time, you may find something that will call you. We all find our purpose in life." Duncan assured him. Daylen smiled, and turned, stopping himself just before he walked into the doorframe of Duncan's room.

"Well, here you are!" Daylen said. "If you need anything, there's a bell by the vanity that will summon a tranquill. Umm...I suppose I've got to move to the mage quarters now..." Daylen looked a little lost at this point, still not fully grasping how his life had changed.

"Do not worry, Daylen. All things in life change. Sometimes sooner than we expect, or sooner than we want. In time, you'll find your calling." With that, Duncan went into his room, and shut the door behind him. Daylen, still feeling pensive, turned around, and walked straight into Jowan. The apprentice had obviously not had a very good day. He was sweating, panting, with bloodshot eyes that held nothing but desperation.

"Daylen, I'm in trouble."

**Well, tune in next time for the exciting conclusion to the Tower of Magi! Please, comment! Please, please, please, please comment! **


	6. Cutting Ties

**Welp, time to finish up the Circle Tower. After countless times attempting to re write this bloody chapter due to technical difficulties, this should be the final time, if only because I'm saving three times after every other sentence. **

**Note to Blarfshnorgull: I won't divulge what will develop, though I will take the usual Cousland/Alistair happenstance in stride. I don't intend to merely be a copycat of every other dragon age fanfic out there. **

**Authors Note: I do not own Dragon Age. Everything involved is the intellectual property of Bioware and others contributing to the franchise, and I profit in no way other than self gratification. **

**Chapter 5: Cutting Ties**

Jowan had led Daylen into the chapel now, past the main altar and into one of the private side rooms they used for people who broke down in the middle of funeral services. Once inside, Jowan carefully began lighting lamps with a seed of fire that rested on his fingertip.

"Will you tell me what's going on now?" Daylen sat on one of the plush chairs, staff across his lap. His friend's behavior was worrying him now.

"No...It would be best if I wait until she's here." Jowan replied, not looking at Daylen, and finished the last few lights before sinking into another chair, elbows on his knees, face in his hands. The lanky apprentice looked as though he was at the end of his rope.

"Jowan?" A soft voice came from the door, and a girl stepped in. By the looks of her, she was in her late teens, 17 at the least, 20 at the most. She had short red hair, and large, green eyes. However, the most surprising thing about her was the wardrobe. She wore the red and cream colored robes of a priestess, or, more likely, an initiate. "Oh, thank the maker your here!" She sighed. "Greagoir took the form, most likely to get it signed by the Grand Cleric. She just started her visitation hour, but after that he'll be able to get her signature." She spoke with urgancy, and glanced now at Daylen. "Is this your friend?"

"Yes. Daylen was just admitted to the rank of a full mage." Jowan confirmed. He then turned to his friend, and motioned for the girl to sit down. "Daylen, umm...well..."

"You didn't tell him already? Jowan, we're running out of time!" The girl was hissing now, as though afriad to be overheard. Jowan shushed her, all the while with a sheepish look.

"Look, Daylen...you remember how I told you that I met someone..." He began, and he trailed off there. Daylen's jaw dropped at the realization.

"Jowan, she's a Chantry Ini-" he began. Jowan cut him off.

"Yes, yes, yes, we know. Look, there's a bigger issue than that...you know those rumors about me being a blood mage?" He began.

"...Tell me you didn't actually-"

"NO! I...The rumors started because people saw me sneaking around, and they assumed I was up to something."

"Which you were." Daylen flapped a hand at the initiate, who blushed.

"Listen! This is important...something has changed...well, err, actually...two somethings. Lily is...umm..." Jowan developed a sudden deep interest in his knees

"Pregnant." Lily cut in, getting more and more agitated as the discussion continued. "Yes, I'm pregnant, Jowan, but that's not the only issue!"

"You...Jowan, you...I didn't...I mean, when did you..."Daylen stammered now. Jowan looked up now, and Daylen could see that his eyes were red from crying.

"That's not important...well, it is, but not right now...Lily saw something earlier today when she was carrying messages for the senior clerics. Knight Commander Greagoir has given the order to make me...tranqull."

"What!" Daylen rose out of his chair now, before the two lover immediatly shushed him, worriedly looking at the door. "How did you find that out?"

"The order was right on Greagoirs desk!" Lily explained. "Listen, if we don't act soon, Jowan will be..."

"Tranquilized." Daylen finished her sentence. "What are you going to do? I could see if I could talk to First Enchant-"

"Irving already signed the damned form!" Jowan spit out. "Look, there's only one thing we can do, Daylen...we need to get my Phylactery, destroy it, and then Lily and I can make a break for it. That's where you come in."

* * *

><p>Neria had returned to the library once again, and was madly scribbling down notes on scry magic, dreams, and anything else that could help her and Duncan. For this task, she had managed to recruit three hapless young apprentices, two mages who had been admitted the same year as her, and 8 tranquil mages to her task. The group was halfway done with their task when someone tapped Neria on the shoulder.<p>

"What!" Neria snapped, turning around to see Daylen, the tower's newest mage. "I'm busy, so make this quick." Daylen had shrunken back at her tone, as if she had struck him.

"Listen, could you sign this request form?" He nervously asked, holding it out. Neria snatched it from his hand and gave it a quick looking over.

"No. This is for Senior Enchanters. I'm only in my second year here, and fortunately my last. Let's see...a rod of fire? Oh, I can do you one better, though. I've got one in my room. Here's the key. I keep it in the wardrobe. I won't be needing it any longer." She handed him the form back, and her key. "Heck, take the room. You'll need one now that you're living up here." She went back to a heavy tome, cutting out as much information as she dared. The young man hurried away with a pace that looked more than slightly suspicious, but the dark skinned elf put that out of her mind.

"You've obviously preparing for multiple scenarios." Neria turned to see Duncan standing behind her. The elf shrugged, returning to her work.

"I'm leaving no room for error here, Duncan. If something is trying to contact you, then I want to know what's coming before it reaches us." She paused. "By which I mean being prepared, not using scry magic. Unless it does-"

"I understand, Miss Surana. However, I would like you also to remember to be prepared for combat. Your display in your workroom was impressive, but I know most mages can pull off such shows of power without effort." Duncan cut her off. "While I'm here, I need to send off some messenger birds to the places I will visit in our travels. Where could I find a coop?" he asked.

"Well, I'm not sure about birds...We haven't been allowed to keep animals in the tower since the Mr. Wiggums incident." She explained. Noticing Duncan's perplexed look, she shook her head. "I'll tell you about it later. The boat man might be able to send some messages to town." She suggested. Duncan nodded, and went to leave before Neria came up with a question. "Where exactly are we going?" She asked.

"After we leave the tower, we will head to Orzammar, and hopefully find a few recruits. We shall then head to Highever, then to Denerim, and after that we shall make our way down to Ostagar." He explained. "I'm going to contact the Aeducans, royal family of Orzammar, along with the Couslands, the lords of Highever. I shall visit a few aquaintences in Denerim, and we shall hopefully find between five to twelve recruits." He continued. "I best get the messages out. Good day." With that, Duncan left, bumping into Daylen, who was now carrying Neria's rod of fire.

"Oh, got that, huh? Good, good." Neria absentmindedly said. Daylen nodded and turned to go, keeping his head down, before Duncan stopped him.

"Daylen, is something the matter? You look unwell." Duncan prodded gently. The new mage turned around, face red.

"Oh, um...nothing is wrong, Duncan. I've just...I've just got a lot on my mind right now." Daylen lied. Duncan raised an eyebrow, and Daylen continued. "It's just...something bad is going to happen to a friend of mine, and he needs my help." He paused again, before blurting out a quick farewell and trying to walk as fast and innocently as he could from the library. Duncan followed him with his eyes, and Neria saw a small, suspicious glint within them.

* * *

><p>"Got it." Daylen returned to the chapel with the rod in hand. "Okay, so, Lily, you've got the password, right?" he asked her once again. She sighed and gave a quick nod.<p>

"Lily needs to unlock the door for us, and after that, she's going to head down to the docks and get our boat ready. You and I will get my Phylactery and we'll slip out. Lily and I will head to town, and meet up with her aunt." Jowan explained. "She'll help us get fare to Redcliffe, and after that, we're going to carve out a new life." He turned his gaze upon his lover, who took one of his hands in both of hers. They shared a brief kiss before they went out the door. Daylen followed, and the three quietly made their way to the basement.

* * *

><p>Duncan followed along behind the trio, casual, unnoticed. The older, distinguished gentleman had always had a peculiar talent for stealth, and he did not let that talent go to waste. He had listened in on their conversation in the chapel, and carefully ignored it. Something in the back of his mind told him to follow, but not to interfere.<p>

That's when Duncan stopped, and debated mentally whether to trust his instincts and follow or return to Neria. Whatever could have given him a dream in the dead of night could surely have given him an impulse in broad daylight. The three young adults were almost out of sight. With an annoyed grunt, Duncan took out several sheets of paper and handed them to an apprentice, telling him where the messages needed to be sent, before following the trio of young adults.

* * *

><p>The first door was set in wood, and carved in it were several wards. Lily touched the surface of the wood, and spoke the password.<p>

"Sword of the maker, tears of the fade." Lily whispered. There was a sound much like a drip of water, and she motioned Daylen forward. Daylen took one hand and cupped his palm, forming a small ball of purple light. He tossed it at the door, which gently swung open. Lily turned to Jowan, gave him a small peck on the cheek, and whispered a farewell before leaving. She turned then to Daylen, and took his hand. "Maker's blessing on you. If it is a boy, I swear, we will name him after you." She promised, and ascended the staircase.

"Get ready to use the rod." Jowan ordered, and Daylen handed it to his friend. The second door sat at the opposite end of the room, and was steel, with another set of wards drawn upon it. Jowan held the rod in both ands and pointed it directly ahead. Daylen waited patiently...only for nothing to happen.

"You...are going to use it, right?" he asked. Jowan, confused, shook the rod a few times. Nothing happened. Tossing the rod aside, Jowan put his hands before him and concentrated. Nothing happened. Confused, Daylen did the same, attempting to call forth fire. Indeed, there was a distinct lack of power in the air around them.

"Well, that's just great." Daylen moaned. The room was, indeed, spellproof. "This should have been obvious." He looked around the small passage now. Aside from the two doors to the phylactery chamber, there were several other doors. Daylen tried one, and it opened into a supply closet. Jowan tried another, and found a hallway.

"Through here. This might lead us around to the chamber." Jowan sounded slightly shaken, as if he couldn't actually believe what he was doing. Daylen couldn't blame him. Breaking into the phylactery chamber was the private fantasy of almost every apprentice in the tower. The ground was covered with a short layer of mist, and Daylen began rubbing his arms to try and keep warm. Entering the doorway, they paid no attention to the door behind them as it gently swung shut due to the drafts. As such, they didn't notice the hand that caught the door and held it open just enough for an eye to peer through it.

* * *

><p>The hallways led on past several storage rooms, from everything the tower could hold on to. Old tomes, boxes of blank paper, barrels of ink, food storage, ingredients for potions, and so forth. As they continued on, the two boys grew colder and colder, until they came to a room where several robes were stored. Wordlessly, they pulled another robe over the ones they had, and, as a precaution, pulled on another one each. The robes were obviously old, but in good condition. Daylen's first pick had been a robe of purple and green that seemed rather unique to the storeroom. Over that, however, he took another plain mages robe. Jowan had simply donned another two apprentice robes.<p>

All the while Duncan kept behind corners and just out of sight, driven by some unknown desire to see the boys progress. He would not help if it came to that, but still...that annoying drive in the back of his mind remained.

The two boys had reached the very last door in the hallway, and opening it revealed a decently sized room with another door on the opposite side. THe room had only one noteworthy feature. In each corner stood a suit of armor. One held a longsword and shield, another held two crossed daggers, another held a battle axe, and a final one held a bow. The helmets were tipped down, as though the four had fallen asleep on guard duty. Daylen stepped forward to examine the one closest to him, which held the crossed daggers. Jowan stood in the doorway, taking it all in before he took a step. The moment he did, the door swung shut behind him with great force.

Daylen turned to look at the door, and then heard the squeaking of rusted metal.

_Jump to the left._

Before Daylen could process what he had heard, his body flung itself to the the left, and he saw that the suit he had been examining had changed. Now, one of the arms was extended, the dagger roughly around the stop Daylen's chest was mere moments before.

_Frost makes all things it covers brittle_

The feeling was like words being etched in cool liquid over the inside of his skull. Daylen saw now that the other four suits had begun jerking around, regaining movement, readying weapons. Jowan stood in the middle of the room, paralyzed with fear.

_Take out the archer._ the voice in his head commanded. Daylen turned to look at the sentinel holding a bow, and saw it readying an arrow, pointing it directly at Jowan.

"DUCK!" Daylen shouted. Jowan turned and dropped, and the arrow thudded into the breastplate of the sentinel with the battle axe. "Jowan, try to freeze that thing!"

Jowan, on the floor, desperatly tried to force the heat away from the suit, wildly flapping his arms and slide away from the sentinel. The left leg of the archer froze solid. Daylen yanked a stone from the wall and flung it at the leg. The metal shattered, and the archer fell to the ground, it's second shot skittering across the floor, stopping right by Jowan. The apprentice glanced at the arrow, and reached out his hand...

Daylen, meanwhile, froze the rest of the archer and pummeled it with the stone a few more times, breaking off the limbs.

_Turn around._

Daylen spun and ducked just in time, the longsword sweeping over his head. Daylen threw fire at it, knocking it over backwards, turning the metal cherry red. He flung the rock he had broken the archer with at it with a whiplash of power, and the softened metal buckled around the construct.

Just then, an eerie chill filled the air, as if all heat had escaped. The glow of the metal on Daylen's opponent faded away, and the suit crumbled. The walls and floor developed a coating of frost, and Daylen, even glad in three layers of robes, felt himself shivering. Turning, he saw what was happening.

Jowan stood in the center of the room, hands spread apart, and between them was a ball of glowing, warm light. The other two sentinels, the dual wielder and the battle axe user, had been frozen completely solid. The apprentice took one hand and flicked it, sending the axe user crashing into the dagger user, and causing both to shatter into icy shards. The ball of heat he held then dissapated, and Jowan himself fell to the floor, panting and holding his hand, looking intently at his palm. Daylen saw now that it was covered in blood, and a discarded arrow was next to his friend.

"Jowan, are you alright?" Daylen rushed over, and took Jowan's hand in his own. He brought power into his fingertips, and sketched a line of power over the bloody hole in Jowan's hand. "This should help." he promised. Jowan watched, strangely detatched, as the skin knitted itself back together, leaving only a bruise. Jowan clenched and unclenched his hand, eyes unfocused. Daylen, worried, waved his own hand in front of Jowan's face. The soon to be apostate jerked up, and settled back in, as if startled.

"Yes, yes...I'm fine...I just...whoo, that really took it out of me." Jowan's voice was shaky, and Daylen noticed his friend's skin was cool and clammy to the touch. Of course, his own skin was also drenched in cold sweat from the exertion of his fight with the sentinels.

"I didn't know that arrow got you..." Daylen checked his friend's hand once again, and the bruise gradually shrunk and vanished.

"It only nicked me, but it was certainly enough to get the blood pumping." Jowan shook Daylen off now, and moved towards the door. The two young men entered the next room, and did not notice that the door behind them opened to reveal a very thoughtful looking Duncan, who had watched with interest as Daylen went about his fight with the suits of armor. He had also seen what had truely given Jowan the rush of energy he had needed, and was not sure of what would come now. He knew, however, that whatever happened, he would do well not to be caught in the middle. The Grey Warden went back through the side hallways, and returned to the main floor of the tower. Spotting a bench on the far wall, he went to it and sat down, ready to watch for whatever came next.

* * *

><p>Daylen and Jowan had found themselves in yet another storage room, this one having no particular theme. There were old statues, globes, tomes, desks, mysterious instruments. However, everything appeared to be broken in some way or another. Jowan leaned against a pillar and was trying to control his breathing while Daylen looked around the room.<p>

"I don't think there's another door in this room..." he said quietly. The realization brought Jowan to his feet, and he saw waht his friend meant. The room had only one doorway, and that was the one they had entered through.

"Damnit...Damnit, Damnit, DAMNIT!" Jowan suddenly snapped, pulling at his hair, trying to control himself. "No! No, no, no! I can't be made tranquil! I can't!" Jowan pushed over an old and battered globe, knocking it off it's stand and causing it to shatter on the ground. The temper tantrum continued for some while, and Daylen, at a loss for words, simply watched. That is, until he heard it.

_"The path to freedom is only shown to those who follow the path of Knowledge."_ The voice was low and female, and Daylen was rather sure that he levitated for a moment hearing it behind him. Spinning around, he came face to face with an old, worn out statue that carried what appeared to be a spear. He eyed it curiously, but no other cryptic advice came. That's when he saw it, however.

A bookshelf against the far wall had been placed there for a reason. On the right side of the bookshelf, on the wall, he could see that the mortar that held the stones together was old, worn, and crumbling. Daylen held up a hand to Jowan, beckoning him over. The apprentice mage halted momentarilly in his breakdown and looked at the area Daylen was watching with intensity.

"Jowan, I think this room is right next to the Repository." Daylen said, and walked over to the section of wall. "Help me with this." Daylen sounded oddly calm now, and, as though detatched from his movements, gripped one side of the bookshelf and began to push. Jowan, spotting now what his friend was trying to do, rushed over to help. The two men managed to shove the bookcase aside, revealing an aged section of mortar roughly the size of a doorway. Without a word, Daylen brought a hand forward and made a fist. He pulled it back, and a single stone from the wall jerked itself out of the way. Indeed, a door was just beyond it.

The two took the wall apart stone by stone, and soon revealed the entire doorway. With a silent prayer to the Maker, Jowan eased it open, and stopped, eyes wide now.

The Repository was a room set in stone, lined with shelves. Upon each shelf was a line of bottles filled with blood, carefully labeled. Daylen and Jowan entered, eyes wide. Daylen was sure that he would vomit any second now.

"This is the most disgusting thing that I've ever seen..." The mage gagged a little. Jowan, however, was scanning the shelves now, looking for his own Phylactery. Daylen, still feeling ill, went to help. The Phylacteries seemed to be placed in order of induction to the tower, so Jowan's had ended up placed at the far end of the room. In fact, the very last bottle on the highest shelf. Bringing over a stool, Jowan eagerly grabbed the small bottle, and pulled the stopper out of it.

"To new life." he whispered, and upended the bottle. The blood poured out onto the floor, and formed a puddle at the base of the stool. Jowan then held up one hand and snapped his fingers, forming a seed of fire. Soon, the blood upon the floor was reduced to merely a red stain amidst a scorch mark.

Daylen, meanwhile, had continued wandering the chamber, and had found a bookshelf. Upon it were thick ledgers, and when he opened one, he found it filled with names.

"Dresdimonia Michante, born 8.70 blessed. Daughter of magus Aliciat Michante and tower servant Plenar Coombs." he read. "Failed her Harrowing, Phylactery destroyed." he continued. Next to the small paragraph of information was a single red dot, old and encrusted. Daylen slammed the book shut when he realized that it was a drop of the dead woman's blood. He nearly jumped when the hand touched his shoulder.

"GAH!" Daylen spun, hitting Jowan in the face with an outstretched hand. "Oh...sorry." Daylen tried to bite down a laugh at this as his best friend rubbed his cheek. "I...I guess...I guess I'm just..." Daylen finally just stopped, and dissolved into laughter. "Holy shit, Jowan, we actually did it!" He hugged his best friend now, and the two dissolved into giddy laughter, an unfamiliar sound to a room filled with blood.

* * *

><p>The giddy pair was brought back down to earth, however, when the exited the basement and found Knight Commander Greagoir and First Enchanter Irving waiting at the top of the stairs, flanked by several templars. Jowan went white, and pulled something out of his robes now. Daylen watched, stupified, as Jowan held up a dagger.<p>

"...You do not think you can overcome all of us with a mere dagger, do you?" A cocky young templar to the right asked him. Jowan turned to her, and without a flinch, he cut open his own wrist and mumbled something..

Every man and woman within a ten foot radius of Jowan was blasted back as a gush of red liquid surged from the apprentice. Daylen was flung back down the stairway, and he heard Jowan screaming. Then the sounds of the templars screaming followed. Daylen, shakilly, climbed back up to the top of the staircase and saw that the cocky templar was clawing at the blood on her face, screaming as though it were boiling water. The other templars were similarilly incapacitated, except for Knight Commander Greagoir. The man was returning to his feet when Jowan turned his wounded arm to him and sent a geyser of liquid rushing into the man, pushing him across the stone floor and into the wall. The young man turned back now, to Daylen, and the thing that scared the young man most was not the carnage around his best friend, but instead how his friend bore no emotion on his face.

"Goodbye, my friend." Then there was another word spoken in a low voice, and everything went dark.

* * *

><p>The group around the repository awoke several hours later, now in the medical quarters. The Grey Warden, Duncan, had apparently arrived on the scene just after Jowan had left, and he had gotten help. The templar recruits were all covered in burns wherever the blood had touched their skin, and several had trouble staying concious after Jowan's spell of sleep had taken hold over everyone. Irving had managed to shield himself from the assault, and had been the first to wake up. Daylen followed after him, and the two now sat in his office.<p>

"...I had no idea..." Daylen's voice was hollow, and his gaze distant. He still saw the moment Jowan had calmly slit open his wrist, replayed over and over again. After the attack, a boat had been seen heading for shore by one of the kitchen staff, who had thought nothing of it. By the time the Templars had reached shore, Jowan and Lily had fled.

"I know, I know." Irving looked worse for wear, his already tired looking face drooping into the poinit of exhaustion. "You thought only that you had helped a friend, and there is no fault in that commitment." Now, however, the old mans eyes hardened. "You went against all codes of the circle, however. You destroyed a phylactery, assisted in the esscape of a Maleficarnum, and ruined the security of the repository." the older mans voice was low and flat. "Child, when Greagoir wakes, he will not wait to hand down a punishment to you."

Daylen knew well what that punishment may be. The best he could hope for was solitary confinement for an extended period of time. Failing that, he would either be made a tranquil mage, sent to Aeonar, the mages prison, or...be killed. Greagoir was not a forgiving man, however. Only one of those options looked real at this point, hanging over him like the guillotine blade.

"There is another course of action this young man's life could take." A soft voice came from beyond the doorway. Duncan stood there, watching the pair of mages. "Daylen Amell, do you regret what you have done?"

"...I...I don't regret helping my friend escaping being made tranquil...but I do regret letting myself be used." Daylen couldn't meet the gaze of the older men in the room, instead looking at his knees.

"Do you wish atone for what you have done?" Duncan continued, gently. Daylen looked up now, meeting the older man's eyes.

"I...I do."

"Then I have a solution for you. But you must make your choice quickly, as the Knight Commander will not stay forever." Duncan stood before the young man, and looked at Irving. The First Enchanter nodded slowly, and looked down at his desk. When he looked up, both Daylen and Duncan were gone. Though he did not listen to their conversation, he did catch the last word the Duncan spoke before the two left the room.

"Orzammar."

**Welp, that's the Magi origin all wrapped up! I promise, the next origins will be shorter. Neria just sorta took up a little bit of space by herself. Now that I've finally finished this damn chapter, time to celebrate! Review, people! I love constructive comments!**


	7. Gravel

**Hello readers, and welcome to Orzammar! Most annoying place in the whole game, barring that fade sequence. But wait! There will be twists, and turns, and loop-de-loops! Let us dive beneath the surface of the earth, brothers and sisters!**

**Authors Note: I do not own Dragon Age. Everything involved is the intellectual property of Bioware and others contributing to the franchise, and I profit in no way other than self gratification. **

**Chapter 6: Gravel**

Faren Brosca woke up in a house that smelled of cheap ale, in a bed that he was sharing with his sister, and with one hand resting on his axe. Life in Dust Town was, to put it lightly, tough. The red headed dwarf sat up, rubbing his face. The small room he and his sister shared was probably the part of the house that smelled the best, due to their agreement to keep all alchohol away from it. Faren's sister, Rica, sat before a speckled mirror and was wiping down her face with cold water. Layers of makeup were washed away until a normal, casteless girl sat at the mirror, giving the brand on her face a deep glare.

Faren now sat up and pulled on the clothes he had worn yesterday. They would need a wash in the next few days, but, luckilly for everyone in dust town, hot water was easy enough to come by when you lived over a lava floe. His dagger and his axe rested on his hips. Sitting infront of the mirror now, next to his sister, he put his unruly red beard into a simply braided style, short and organized. Rica, meanwhile, treated her teeth, plucked at her face, and clipped her nails.

"Any luck last night?" Faren asked. Rica turned and smiled at her twin brother, and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek.

"I met a man. He seemed interested in me, and asked for me to meet with him tonight at tapsters. Said he'd reserve us a private room." She gave him a side hug. "He didn't want a tumble yet, however. It was pretty early in the morning when I caught him. Infact, I was just about to head back to Beraht when I came across him." she admitted. "He's a noble though, don't worry."

"I'm not." Faren returned the hug now. "Just be careful, alright?" He asked her, concern in his eyes. Prostitution, no matter what name the carta gave it, was rarely a safe job. "You are taking a chaperone or two, right?"

"Relax. Beraht said that he's got a man undercover at Tapsters who'll watch my back. I'm not completely helpless myself, either." Rica now rolled up the sleeve of her gown, and revealed a small, wicked looking dagger. Faren knew he wouldn't have to worry. Say what you would about the Carta and the man who ran it, but they did not like taking risks with their investments.

The twin dwarves were practically poster children for the life of the casteless youth of Orzammar. Instead of being good little doormats and begging for scraps from nobles, the two young dwarves had joined the life of organized crime at the age of 10. Not as a noble hunter and hired thug, of course. Faren had begun his job as a messenger boy, assistant, weapon polisher and, on one memorable occaison, nug wrangler. Rica had been employed as a serving girl until she had hit the age of 18, the legal age of which a dwarf could bear children and recieve the benefits from it. She had then spent a year as an assistant to the already existing noble hunters, learning the tips and tricks of makeup and fashion, seduction and stealth. Now the twins were 19, and too deep into the Carta to escape if need be. It did put bread on the table, however, so neither of them minded.

"Did you get groceries before you came home last night, or should I go out during the day?" Rica asked. Faren wordlessly passed her a pouch of coins. Neither could depend on their mother to do the shopping. Kalah Brosca had long ago checked out of reality, and had turned to liquor as a substitute. Were she to be let out of the house with coin, no doubt the stench of piss and ale would only worsen.

"Well, I'd better get going." Faren gave his sister another kiss on the cheek. "Good luck, sister."

* * *

><p>Leske was waiting outside of the Brosca residence. The black haired dwarf was idly balancing a dagger upon his fingertip, humming a little tune to himself. It was all Faren could do not to break down laughing at the sight of one of the hired thugs of the Carta so loose and idle. When Leske spotted his friend, he idly flipped the dagger in the air, caught it by the hilt, and sheathed it.<p>

"Bout sodding time. I was afraid I would have to go in there and get you." Leske joked. "So, how's Ri-"

"Found an interested man, needs her fertility for the next 9 monthes, and she carries a dagger in her sleeve." Faren replied in his best deadpan. Leske went limp in exagerated dissapointment, before recovering with a dramatic sigh and straightening up. "What's the job today?" he asked, all enthusiasm draining from his voice now. As muscle, Leske and Faren were in charge of taking care of individuals that got on the bad side of their boss, Beraht. THe well known fact of the matter was that Beraht had no good side. Rather, he had a bad side, a tolerable side, and a side for whatever clever and brave woman was acting as his lover.

"Trader named Oskias. Apparently, he's been dealing with Lyrium on the side and not telling Beraht." Leske and Faren had started walking now through dust town, eyes focused straight ahead of them, hands on their weapons.

"We to bring him in alive or dead?" Faren asked as they rounded the dirty water fountain.

"Alive if he can provide good info. Dead if he tries to resist. Oh, and no bribes. Beraht has people in the tavern." Leske replied.

"Unless the poor duster is giving away a Lyrium Golem, I doubt bribes will be a problem." Faren sighed. "So, Tapsters?"

"Where else?" Leske grumbled. "If we're lucky, Oghren got pissed off at him and decapitated him and we can all share a celebratory drink." Leske joked.

* * *

><p>Tapsters tavern was crowded. Tapsters was always crowded, though. If the dwarves of Orzammar loved one thing, it was drinking to forget they lived in Orzammar. Leske exchanged a few whispered words with a waitress, who jerked her head over to a lone dwarf at a small table. Faren drifted across to the right of the man, and Leske to the left. Oskias had no idea what was happening until the two dwarves sat down on either side of him.<p>

"Mr. Oskias, was it? We come to you on behalf of a mutual aquaintence." Leske put an arm around Oskias in a manner that seemed friendly enough, until one saw Leske's thick fingers carefully trapping the merchant's shoulders. "Our friend heard you had something you'd like to tell him. He sent us to collect you."

* * *

><p>"Give Beraht a few minutes. Apparently, the guy in there is a big client asking for a big favor." Jarvia twirled an arrow between her fingers. The second in command of the Carta and the lover of Beraht, the brunette dwarf possessed an uncanny talent for stealth and deception. That and the fact that Beraht's previous lover, who had been the subject of several "rumors" and had "accidentally" fallen into a lava floe right after Jarvia appeared on the scene made her a rather imposing woman.<p>

"Gotcha. Here's the money he tried to bribe us off with." Faren tossed her a pouch of coins. Jarvia caught them with her free hand, dropped her arrow, and sifted through the pouch. Taking the larger portion of the money, she tossed the pouch to Leske. Leske emptied it into his hand, split half of it with Faren, and tucked the now empty sack into a pocket.

"And here is a bonus offering." Leske handed over another pouch, and Jarvia opened it carefully. The small moonglow of lyrium shone out, reflected against her eyes. She gave a low whistle.

"You're lucky, merchant man. Play your cards right and Beraht may let you off this time. This is good stuff." She tucked the pouch into her own clothes carefully. "Any complications?" she asked. The two dwarves shook their heads. "Gotcha. Kay then. I've got the merchant, I've got the Lyrium, and I've got your next job. Wanna hear about it?"

* * *

><p>The day wore on as the two went about doing "errands". Most of the businesses in Orzammar were due for a renewal of their protection fees. Faren was impressed by the turn out. Only one unlucky duster had tried to resist. The two had left him alone, as a public brawl would not do anyone any good. Instead, they put him down for the more serious enforcers to come and pay a visit to later. They checked up on the noble hunters and gathered progress reports and Beraht's cut of the fee from them. They also were instructed to dispose of a rather large "package" that Jarvia not to subtly hinted at being Oskias from before.<p>

It was around noon when the two returned to the headquarters, and actually saw Beraht. The muscular, black haired dwarf sat in expensive clothing, and was being served wine by a teenaged girl.

"Right then. Next on the agenda." Beraht began, all business. "Today, a glory proving is being held in honor of the second son of House Aeducan being made a general." he explained. The two nodded. The second in line to the throne was the popular choice to replace his father, despite the problem of an older brother in the way. "Certain powers that be have a vested interest in Everd Bera winning a match against Mainar Dramans." Beraht produced a small vial of clear liquid. "This should be enough to tip the odds against Mainar." he pushed the vial across the desk, and into Leske's hand. "Put it in his water fountain, and wait. Confirm when Everd fights before drugging Mainar, otherwise it'll wear off before the fight. My contact will let you in the side entrance." Beraht dismissed them now with a wave of his hand, and the two thugs left without a word.

* * *

><p>The kitchen entrance that the two entered through was rather empty, and soon the pair of thugs stood in the entrance hall of the proving grounds. Leske went to examine the room assignments on a slate on the wall while Faren looked around.<p>

The hall was buzzing with conversation about the days events. After the proving today, Prince Duran Aeducan would be formally made a commander of the army of Orzammar. Tommorow, he would lead the armies out in an expedition to reclaim the old Aeducan Thaig, the closest of the lost dwarven cities. He also mentioned several younger female dwarves speaking about Everd, and learned of his popularity with the ladies of Orzammar. Mainar was the favorite of the older patrons of the proving, as the experienced, battle hardened veteran.

"Pardon me, but do you know where the Proving Masters quarters are?" A nervous young voice asked behind and above him. Faren turned around, and found two human men and an elven woman standing behind him. The speaker with a young man with a black beard and hair, and holding a staff. The older man was in his middle ages, going grey at the temples, and wore a sword and dagger. The elf had the darkest skin tone that he had ever seen, and leaned on her own staff, looking bored.

"Can't help you there. Sorry." Faren replied.

"What's with that tatoo?" The dark skinned elf asked, bluntly. "I keep seeing it all over, but only on some people." Faren turned to her, absentmindedly rubbing the brand on his face.

"This? Oh, this means that we were born unlucky enough to belong to the casteless, and therefore do not exist in the eyes of the high and mighty folk of Orzammar. They brand us at birth so they can tell who is a thief and murderer." He replied bluntly. The younger human looked very, very much like he wished to be elsewhere, while the elf merely raised and eyebrow.

"So what are you doing in Orzammar's best known establishment?" she asked, tilting her head now.

"None of your business." Faren glanced over to Leske, and saw him staring at the company in amazement. "Gotta go." He walked away from the trio, and gave Leske a questioning look when his eyes did not leave the three mysterious visitors.

"Oy, salroka. What, you're into elves now?" he asked, snapping his fingers infront of his friends face.

"No, no, that's not it. Do you realize who you were just talking to?" Leske's voice was low now. "That man, the older one, is the leader of the Grey Wardens in Ferelden!" he whispered excitedly. Faren raised and eyebrow at this.

"Must be scouting out recruits from today's provings." He shrugged. "Find out where Everd and Mainar are?" he asked. Leske nodded, and jerked his head off to the side, down a hallway. The two were on their way, and soon arrived at room 24, Everd's registered quarters. Faren knocked at the door, and recieved no answer.

"His fighting schedule is in the room, right?" Leske asked. Faren nodded, and produced a set of lockpicks from his clothes. The door was an easy puzzle to solve, and the two slipped in.

The fighers quarters were not as spacious as one might have thought, although it may simply have been from the state their occupant had left them in. The tables had been overturned, several bottles of lichen wine were scattered about the floor, one end of the expensive rug had gotten too close to the fire and had been burned to a crisp, and the fireplace was surrounded by soot.

In the center of the room, still clutching a bottle, lay a dwarf that could only have been Everd. Leske rushed over to him, but Faren, after years of living under Kalah Brosca, knew well enough that he would not be coming out of that drunken coma anytime soon.

"Oh stone." Leske whispered. "What are we going to do?" He stood up now, pacing the room, kicking bottles out of his way. Faren closed the door behind him now.

"He's not coming out of that for atleast a few more hours." Faren confirmed, examining Everd. "When's his match?"

"...Bout twenty minutes from now." Leske groaned as he examined the slate nailed next to the door. "Oh sodding..."

"Leske, listen." Faren began, walking over to his friend. "I have an idea. I need you go go find Mainar. Don't worry. I'll handle things here."

"What the hell are you going to do, then? " Leske asked. Faren sighed, and walked over to the one upright piece of furnature in the chamber. An armor stand. He stood infront of it, and Faren saw now how Everd's armor looked like it was exactly the right size for Faren.

"Probably the stupidest thing I've ever done."

**And that's a wrap! Welp, I'm taking canon and kicking it out the window now, aren't I? Next chapter continues the story of Faren and the Proving. Toodly ooh! **


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